


Mine

by princesskay



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: AO3 1 Million, Dom/sub Play, Face Slapping, M/M, Rough Sex, Twincest, jealous!Tom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 13:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1186892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When I overstep the bounds, when I push the limits, go so far as to break the rules against his supreme, unmoving authority, there is no grace to be found. Unlike myself, he doesn't feel guilty about punishing out of anger because his formidable wrath is more than justified</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anoetic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoetic/gifts).



> I'm so excited to be posting the day after AO3 reached 1 million fanworks! I hope I'm still up to date when we reach 2 million!:))))  
> Comments and reviews are always appreciated!

I have an authority problem. Our family, fans, producers, and pretty much everyone up to date on the four boys of Tokio Hotel knows this fact. But most of all, my big brother, Tom, knows it. He, too, is often afflicted of the same tendency. When I overstep the bounds, when I push the limits, go so far as to break the rules, however, against his supreme, unmoving authority, there is no grace to be found. Unlike myself, he doesn't feel guilty about punishing out of anger because his formidable wrath is more than justified. I admit, I can be hard to deal with, but sometimes, I just cannot stop myself.  
Stumbling through the back door in the dark, barely able to see my own feet, I realized I had done it again. I was a little drunk, but not enough to be incoherent or reckless. I knew what crime I had committed and that Tom's anger was to come down upon me, even in the middle of the night as it were. I had gone out, I had enjoyed myself, I had pushed the limits – something which never ceases to give me a thrill – but now was the true test of what seemed to be a full, satisfying day.  
Carefully picking my way through the darkened living room, I tried to make my way as carefully as possible to my bedroom in my buzzed state. There were two options – making it safely to my bedroom without waking Tom, and therefore putting off punishment until tomorrow. In this option, I would be tossing and turning through the wee hours of the morning, wondering what was to become of my skinny, disobedient ass. Second option, and least likely, was that I go to Tom's room immediately, confess my sin, and reap my just rewards. Though neither sounded appealing, I knew I would pick door number one, the hard way. I would writhe around the bed until morning, wearing myself out trying to map out the conversation the two of us would have. I would put it off until the least possible moment because when I make Tom mad, there's no turning back. I'll freely admit it – hell, I'll scream it from the top of a mountain – I'm scared shitless.  
I made it all the way up the stairs without creaking one floorboard. By now, my heart was pounding, a cold sweat breaking out across my brow. I had to pass Tom's door to to get to mine, something he had surely thought of when we moved in here. Tom is all about rules and boundaries, and keeping me in line. When I'm talking nonstop, he's sitting there quietly, efficiently thinking and planning. His mind never stops working, and therein lies to power of his authority.  
The seconds seemed to stretch into minutes as I tiptoed past that dark, threatening doorway. The house was absolutely silent. If I made one sound, I would be dead meat. A strange luck seemed to be on my side; I made it past Tom's door in silence and crept to my own. Relief flooded my veins and I immediately congratulated myself on a job well done. Just another day of breaking the rules, and getting away with it. Well, sort of. . .More like putting off punishment until a time when I was more prepared to deal with it.  
I grabbed the door handle as if it were my last line of safety and thrust the door open. Staggering inside, I let out a slow breath and press the door quietly shut behind me. The room is dark, my own little sanctuary, my own little torture chamber until morning. A breeze drifted across my face and I frowned, not recalling leaving a window open. I jerked my head up and scanned the room, horribly dismayed to find him sitting right there, on my bed. I had not avoided punishment at all, but only hastened it by coming directly here.  
Tom's face was dark, the soft planes shrouded in shadow, leaving only the sharp ridges and lines of high-cut cheekbones and a taut, clenched jaw plain to my eyes. His expression was dark and angry, but his hands were folded in his lap, passive for the moment. I feared what those hands would do once I provoked him by speaking, by trying to apologize.  
We remained there, me trembling by the door, he seated quietly on the bed, for several moments before he rose to his feet. Extending a hand, he questioned in a low, gravelly voice, “Where are they?”  
“Where are what?” I whispered.  
“Your car keys. Where are they?” Tom insisted, his voice growing impatient, “Hand them over.”  
I swallowed hard, taken by both the urge to submit, and the urge to keep on rebelling. I was afraid, yes, but handing over my keys meant a loss of freedom and independence, things I had always valued.  
“Damnit, Bill, don't make this worse on yourself.” Tom snapped, taking a step closer to me, “Give them to me now.”  
I hesitated for only a moment. I already had one foot in my grave, but my reply could mean a slip and a fall, and the nail in my coffin. It was my choice, and I was about to make the wrong one.  
“You know, you're already getting punished for direct disobedience.” Tom added, grabbing me by the face and giving me a shake, “Don't make the wrong choice.”  
My eyes were round as saucers and I was trembling in my boots. Though I could've collapsed instantly at his feet, begging forgiveness, I could not. Once Tom began my punishment, I would barely have my dignity left – at least I would have the comfort that I didn't turn into a weak, pathetic mess of sobbing and pleading.  
“Give them to me.” Tom's voice was softer this time, more of a request than a demand.  
I shook my head. Sweet talking wouldn't work this time; I was too far gone.  
“No.” My voice was quiet, paper-thin.  
Tom's eyes narrowed, anger sparking in the deep, dark depths. He let out a sigh through flared nostrils and crossed his arms, “If you're going to disobey me, at least do it with some balls, boy. Speak up.”  
I swallowed helplessly, my mouth so dry I could hardly breath. I curled my hands into fists at my sides and drew up to my full height, “NO.”  
His hand came out of nowhere, cracking loudly across my cheek, full force. My head snapped to the side and I stumbled back against the door. The whole side of my face smarted and stung, and tears rushed unbidden to my eyes. My fucking face hurt really bad, but I was no longer in any position to negotiate forgiveness.  
Tom was on me in seconds, one hand clamped around my face, the other behind my head to keep me still. Hot breaths gusted across my cheeks as he leaned in close to speak, “I don't give a fuck if it is the middle of the night. I am going to break your ass, do you hear me?”  
I squirmed, a quiet sob spilling past my lips. I was in so deep, I didn't know what to do. Though the logical answer seemed to be, lie down and take it like a good boy, I just couldn't let this go. The whole argument had started because Tom told me not to go to this dumb party, and I wanted to go. Now he was trying to take even the option of my going by confiscating my keys. I wasn't angry that Tom was telling me what to do; I was angry that he was interfering with my personal life, taking away my freedom outside the boundaries of our sexual relationship. To me, that was overstepping the bounds.  
The culmination of the struggle, was my rough, tear-strangled voice whispering, “Fuck you.”  
Another wrong move, but an impressive one, considering my position.  
Tom took a step back, breathing loudly in anger. He slapped me again, back-handed across the opposite cheek. I sagged harder against the door, hot tears streaming down my swelling, red-flushed cheeks. I didn't have much fight left in me, and I knew the spankings I deserved were going to hurt a lot more than a few smacks across the face. Tom didn't slap me to hurt me; he slapped me to put me back in my place, to humiliate me. It usually worked on the first try.  
Grabbing me by the back of the neck, Tom dragged my limp body across the room and threw me across the bed on my stomach. Straddling my legs, he ripped my pants down just below my ass. Here, he paused, letting me squirm in fear and humiliation, my bare ass clenched and awaiting the first painful strike of his palm.  
“Why did you have to go?” He demanded, fingers curling through long strands of my hair, “What was so goddamn important about this party that you had to fucking go?”  
“Nothing. . .” I cried, squirming under the weight of his body.  
“Sure.” He spat in my ear, “I know who was there, Bill. Those fashion twins, right? The fucking fags that want you.”  
I shook my head, though the motion put strain on the hair Tom was currently pulling on. Tom could be quite the jealous lover, but he had the wrong idea about Dan and Dean. I wasn't interested in either one of them, and as far as I knew, they just wanted to be friends, perhaps business partners.  
“Is that why you had to go?” Tom demanded, yanking my head back farther, “To fuck them?”  
“No!” I burst out, “They're just my friends!”  
“Friends with fucking benefits.” Tom growled in my ear, “Did they want you at the same time? One of them sucking your cock while the other fucked your tight little ass?”  
“Jesus, no. . .” I croaked, shocked by how vivid Tom's jealous imagination had become, “That's disgusting. NO!”  
Tom seemed to have no interest in my protests; my opinion had probably lost validity somewhere around “fuck you.”  
“I'm gonna show you who you belong to.” Tom continued, reaching between us to tug his belt open.  
Fuck. . . I lapsed against the sheets, head spinning, stomach turning. I had expected righteous anger, of course, but what usually followed was a long, hard beating. It was what I deserved, a fair and just punishment to set things right again.  
Tom crawled over me to grab the lube from the bedside table. I could see his hands shaking with rage, and knew this was gonna hurt a lot. Probably more than any spanking ever would because Tom didn't generally fuck me senseless out of anger. With that tearful realization, came my biting conscience, reminding me that if I had just obeyed in the first place, I wouldn't be in this situation.  
Tom smacked my bare hip, “Open up.”  
I struggled to get my legs apart and my hips arched up with my pants still wrapped around my legs, but the humiliating position seemed to satisfy Tom more than widespread legs. I buried my face in the plush comforter as he rubbed lube-slick fingers up and down my cleft.  
My insides were already quivering with need; I was trained to respond to Tom's simple touch, to get hard despite the circumstances. The need beginning to pulse through me now, however, was unlike our ritualistic lovemaking. It was hybrid of anger and need, still riding on the high of rebellion, the rush of adrenaline. I was exhilarated by the pain, and my insides were twisted with intense shame. I was about to be debased and punished in the most crushing way possible, and yet, I couldn't wait for him to enter me. He was my completion, and without him, there was no life, no pleasure, no gratification. I had been gratified by his rage, and now I would be gratified by his need.  
I gasped aloud as Tom's finger penetrated me. I could feel how tight I was, and tried desperately to relax. Tom would push his hard dick inside me when he wanted to, not when I was ready.  
A second finger thrust in only seconds later. The two began to knife sharply into my hole, slaying my resistance with little effort, turning me on without even trying. I wiggled my hips up higher as the need coursed through my veins, hot and shockingly fast. I wedged my knees under myself and rocked back against Tom's hand, moaning quietly in need. His fingers were hard and fast, slamming into me at an almost painful rate, but quickly accomplishing the goal of opening me up.  
“Tom, please. . .” I gave a quiet sob.  
Tom paused to a deliver a lighting-quick smack to my bare ass, eliciting a sharp squeak from my lips.  
“Shut your fucking whore mouth.”  
I clamped my lips shut, overcome by a wave of humiliating tears and surging need. Somewhere inside me, the two were colliding, creating a great whirlwind of desire. With Tom, humiliation and sexual need were like two sides of the same coin. I could not have one without the other; I could not be satisfied without first being brought to my lowest point.  
Keeping one hand on my hip, Tom lubed his cock. He pressed up behind him, rubbing the length of himself along my cleft. I gave a quiet gasp when I felt how fucking hard he was. His cock rested like a steel rod, clothed in hot, throbbing flesh, against me. This recklessly alive, throbbing length of flesh and blood was his most destructive weapon against me. Not his anger, nor his pride, nor the strike of his hand, or even the opposite moments of love, gentility, and peace, but this one simple organ that rose and throbbed to life in response to my tiniest quiver would be the thing that brought me to ruin. He pursued me and I ran. He loved me and I spit in his face. He struck me and still, I defied him. But when we were together, like this, I was only his, and he was my ultimate and superior dominant, the one who possessed me, obsessed me, and took me, no matter the situation or the price to pay. He would be inside me, and all my defiance and rebellion would fade, for I could not meet him on such an uneven battleground.  
With one firm thrust, he sealed us together. I could feel my resistance shatter and scatter like sand to the wind. I gave a long, low moan that pressed the tears full to my eyes. Moisture gathered like an incoming storm, but I was loathe to let the tears fall. He was in me now, and moving, barreling forward like an unbroken pony, and I was complete.  
“Tom, Tom. . .” I panted his name as his hips rocked hard and steady against my ass.  
This time, he did not slap me or tell me to shut up. He groped at my hips and thrust himself with wild abandon into the hot, wet sheath of my body. I groaned with each thrust, losing all the air in my lungs just as I had thought I had managed to catch my breath. His cock was so hard and long inside me, filling me up and drilling at my hole with unerring rhythm and precision. I could feel his head starting to hammer at my prostate, the place he so often went to destroy me.  
I pushed my hips back against him weakly and moaned brokenly. The spit was gathering in my mouth and spilling over my open lips, and I could not think to clamp them shut again. I was absolutely consumed by the raw intensity of the intercourse, the need and possessiveness that had driven him to this point. I could see now, where I had been wrong. He had simply wanted me to himself for a day, and I had gone to party. Though I had not done the acts he described with Dan and Dean, I had essentially cheated on him by choosing the fashion twins over my own other half. It was the principle, not the sexual acts, that had made him so angry – the fact that I would rather go to them, than stay with him.  
I could feel Tom's fingers raking up my bare back, pushing my shirt up to reveal smooth, pale skin. He liked me to be completely naked when we had sex so that he could see every inch of my thin, white body quivering for him. He had lunged into intercourse with such rabid need and determination that we were both almost entirely clothed, except for the material pushed hastily back to connect our bodies.  
Now, he ripped the shirt off over my head and flung it away. His thrusts slowed until he pulled out and flipped me onto my back. I met his eyes for the first time since the intercourse had begun, fearful of what I might find in his gaze. The anger was still there, but the dark brown orbs that so often drew me in like some kind of charm, were familiar with hazy need and desperation once more. We were back to each other after that short, yet violent departure that I had unfortunately initiated.  
“Get your pants off.” He ordered, already freeing his body of his own clothing.  
I eagerly kicked my pants off my legs and spread myself out before him. My rebellion entirely forgotten, I was now solely focused upon winning his favor back. How I could have left him for a silly thing like a party was beyond my comprehension when he was fucking me so good.  
Free of his clothing, Tom sauntered back to the bed and knelt between my spread legs. His body was like a feast to my starving eyes, the golden-brown skin like smooth honey, the firm, toned lines of muscle like raw, enticing meat, the hard, tight nipples like drops of candy. I wanted to devour him, and let him devour me, so that we would finally be one again.  
He held out a crooked finger, “Come to me.”  
I pushed myself up, straining for his affection. His fingers laced into the back of my hair and yanked my head back. Drawing me up against his chest, he delivered a final, sharp blow to my parted lips, “Are you ready to come back to me?”  
I nodded vehemently, blinking hard against biting tears. My mouth ached with the firey touch and I sucked on my lower lip to ease the stinging.  
He threw me back against the sheets and seized my compliant legs. In one swift motion, he lifted and spread my thighs and thrust back into me with impressive, practiced aim. I cried out and grappled with the sheets, searching for leverage. I was helpless beneath his quick, defined blows, so consumed by pleasure that I could only produce weak, garbled sounds of no coherency.  
He thrust into me over and over again, drilling at my pleasure spot. I could feel my whole body starting to seize with the threat of climax, the muscles deep down quivering uncontrollably. I looked up at him, silently begging his permission.  
He leaned in closer, hiking my legs up over his shoulders and nearly bending me in half beneath him, “Wait for it.” He murmured.  
He buried deep inside him, stretching me to my limit, until I thought I might break. I groaned aloud and grasped at his shoulders, trying with ever fiber of my being to communicate my need. I had to cum, I just had to. I needed it like nothing else in this fragile, material world.  
Above me, a loud groan burst past his lips. He reached down and grabbed my face, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were black with need, his face etched with cracks of ecstasy. His foundation was crumbling beneath the weight of pleasure, and soon, we would be eye-to-eye, we would be equal and one.  
“Yes. . .” He gave a quiet, trembling hiss, and I knew.  
I let go and let myself become immersed in the pleasure, the need, the pounding, vital pulse of our love. Only a few strained thrusts later, I felt my body break. It hit me suddenly, like a wave coming in and crashing over my head, drowning me in absolute, spell-binding pleasure. My insides clenched over and over, as the pleasure broke like the tide against me. My core pulsed and ached with the pressure until I felt myself release. Ribbons of white painted my stomach and dappled Tom's chest, christening us both into new, fresh love.  
Above me, he came, so beautiful, so perfect. His face twisted in pleasure, and his strong, solid body went stiff against me, before the shudders began. His hips spasmed against me, grinding his dick into my ass several more times before I felt hot liquid gush into me. He marked me with frantic spurts of release, labeling me as his – as if either of us could have ever forgotten.  
He collapsed, diffused of the strength and power that had carried us to this position. His lips were hot and heavy against me, delivering rapid, messy kisses. He nibbled at my lower lip, leaving a string of indentions across the plush flesh.  
“Mine. . .” He murmured, huskily, grazing calloused fingertips across my cheek, “You are mine.”  
I moaned a quiet response and turned my mouth up against his questing tongue. We kissed deeply and intensely for long moments, relishing our renewed connection with vigor. The thought had not occurred to me that I could still be punished for my wrongdoing, but had the topic entered my mind, I would have willingly laid down for the beating. There was no place I could run, no mountain too high, no valley too deep, or sea too wide that he could not follow me. My Tom, my lover, my master, my god would follow me to ends of the earth to establish his love and his mark deep inside me, to make me realize the truth of our connection. We were bound together for the end of time; this was where I had always belonged. Until my next futile bout of rebellion, I would stay underneath him, and he in me, for there was nowhere else I could go. 

The end.


End file.
